The Hour of Departure
by Idiosyncratic Enigma
Summary: Sara is there when her mother dies unexpectedly. Inspired by my own grandmother's passing a couple of months ago. CathSara friendship, GSR. Grissom shows up finally!
1. Chapter 1

Summary: Sara is there when her mother dies unexpectedly. Inspired by my own grandmother's passing two weeks ago. CathSara friendship, GSR.

Disclaimer: I only own them in my dreams.

_A/N: My grandmother passed away two weeks ago and I needed an outlet and came up with this. The situation itself pretty much mirrors my own but I threw in extra angst and the CSIs to make it more… interesting. No beta this time. Just wanted to write it and get it out, so I apologize for any mistakes._

_A/N2: The title is a line from "A Song of Despair" by Pablo Neruda._

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Catherine and Sara were halfway to a crime scene in the desert when Sara's phone rang loudly, breaking the silence. 

"Hello?"

"May I please speak to Sara Sidle?" the voice on the other end requested.

"This is Sara. Who is this?"

"This is Charlotte Novak, I'm with hospice."

Sara sat up straighter in her seat, her heart starting to pound. "Is this about my mother?"

"Yes. Your mom is having trouble breathing. I would strongly advise you to come and see her."

"Okay. I'll be there as soon as I can." Sara closed her phone, letting it drop into her lap. When Catherine looked over questioningly, she saw that Sara was as white as a sheet.

"Sara? Is everything alright with your mom?"

"We need to go back. I need to go back."

"Okay, I'll take you there. Just tell me where she is."

"Davidson Assisted Living."

"I know where that is. I'll get you there as fast as I can." Catherine continued to drive, waiting for a crossover to turn around.

Sara called Grissom's cell, but he didn't answer. She tried his office line, but he didn't answer there either. So she tried his cell again. "Griss, it's me. Um, something's come up with my mother. She's at Davidson Assisted Living. Please come." She clicked it shut and dropped it in the cup holder.

Catherine called the lab and briefly explained the situation and asked for another team to be sent to the crime scene. After that, they rode in silence for several minutes. "Is your mom okay?" she finally asked.

Sara ran her hand over her face. "I don't know. Not really." Catherine waited for her to go on. She didn't want to pry, so she didn't ask for a further explanation. Finally, after awhile, the brunette continued. "She had a stroke a few years after I moved to Vegas. The facility in San Francisco wasn't comfortable with me being so far away and suggested she be moved. I agreed and moved her here." Again she paused, unsure of how much information she wanted to divulge to Catherine. Even Grissom didn't know about her mother. It was going to come out sooner than later, and if Catherine was going to go in the facility with her, she should be prepared. "She's never been strong, health-wise, and the stroke really took a toll on her body. She was fine until about three or four months ago and her health declined rapidly. Her doctor recommended I look into hospice care, and it's been like that ever since. Charlotte, her hospice nurse, said she's having trouble breathing. I'm not sure exactly what that means." Sara snapped her mouth shut and returned to staring out the window.

Catherine gave her a sideways glance. "Does anyone else know?" Sara shook her head. "Why do you keep these things to yourself?"

Sara sighed. "Sometimes…it's just easier to pretend that everything is okay."

"Doesn't it hurt?"

She laughed bitterly. "Cath, I've been hurt enough times in my life that it doesn't even faze me anymore."

Catherine felt a little ping in her heart. After so many years she still didn't understand or know the source of Sara's pain. The brunette tried to hide it with a tough façade and an insane dedication to work, but it was obvious she was hurting. Catherine reached across the armrest and squeezed Sara's hand. "We're all here for you Sara. We're all on your side. If you need us all you have to do is ask."

"Sometimes asking is the hardest part," Sara said softly, more to herself than to Catherine. "I'd rather not talk about myself anymore." She folded her arms across her chest and slouched lower in her seat.

Catherine nodded. After several more minutes of silence, she spoke up again. "Do you want me to just drop you off, or would you like me to stay?" Sara didn't respond. "How about this… I'll stay with you until you kick me out. Sound good?"

Sara only nodded. She really didn't want to be left alone with her mother and her co-worker's company would suffice until Grissom arrived. She opened her phone – no missed calls – and hit redial. It rang several times before going to voicemail. She didn't leave a message this time.

"Not answering?" Catherine asked sympathetically.

"No. I can't imagine what he'd be doing that he wouldn't answer his cell phone."

"Maybe he's somewhere that doesn't get reception. Don't worry; you'll get a hold of him."

The rest of the ride was quiet. Catherine wasn't sure what to say or do. She didn't know the situation and Sara wasn't exactly being very forthcoming. She didn't know if Sara and her mother had a close relationship or not. She did know it was serious since she was in hospice care. Serious enough for the younger woman to already be building walls around herself. Catherine wanted Sara to be able to trust her, especially if the end of this road led to her mother's death.

Sara hated getting hurt, but she was used to it. She hated it most when people saw her hurt or vulnerable. She'd had a hard life, with far too few people to trust. Trust wasn't something she gave away easily. She wanted to trust Catherine, she really did, but they hadn't had the best history and she was a little wary of her co-worker's loyalties. She knew it was irrational at times, that Catherine would never use such an intimate moment against her, but she couldn't help the way she felt. She was practically programmed to act this way.

Catherine pulled up into the driveway of the center. Sara gestured for her to go left and drive around the back. Catherine followed the signs to the assisted living center, parked the car, and got out, stretching. She started walking toward the entrance when she noticed Sara hadn't even gotten out of the car. She walked back and knocked on the passenger side door. Sara opened it.

"You gonna make it?"

"Yeah. Just give me a sec." She closed the door and let out a deep, shaky breath. She rarely ever visited her mom – usually only once a year, twice if she remembered – although ever since her mom went into hospice care Sara made more of an effort to see her. The truth was she couldn't stand to look at her mom, placed the blame of her entire life on her shoulders. She had spent most of her life hating Laura Sidle, and now that it was nearing the end, she was starting to feel overwrought with regret. She had spent a lot of time over the past few months reevaluating her life and her relationship with her mother. But even after all of that, she wasn't ready for this, not yet. She hadn't planned what she was going to say. She had so much to say. Sara felt a tear trickle down her cheek and she hastily wiped it away. She picked up her cell, trying Grissom one more time. Again, no answer. She checked her reflection in the mirror and pulled her sunglasses down over her eyes. Ready or not, she had to do this.

She climbed out of the car and led the way into the center. It really was a nice facility. Despite her anger, she wanted her mom to be in good hands, and Davidson had an excellent reputation.

Two nurses were gathered outside her mom's room. When they saw Sara, they walked up to her and squeezed her hands. They eyed Catherine, curious and awaiting an introduction.

Catherine stuck out her hand and shook theirs. "I'm Catherine. Sara and I are friends."

"I'm Charlotte and this is Jessica. We're with hospice."

"What happened?" Sara asked, not caring if there were proper introductions.

"We think she had a stroke after dinner. She was having trouble breathing, really labored. We waited for the doctor to come by and check on her, and then we waited about thirty minutes to see if her breathing would return to normal, and it didn't. So we got her some oxygen and put her on a morphine drip."

"Can I see her?"

"Of course. Let me warn you before you go in there: the stroke affected her right side. Her right eye can't move or blink, and we think that her sight is gone. She looks in the direction of your voice, but not directly at you. She can, however, hear you. She can't move on her own, and she can't swallow."

"So…"

"She can't eat or drink. The morphine will help her with any pain, and we're doing everything we can to make her comfortable."

Sara crossed her arms and tried to swallow the sobs that were building up in her chest. "How much longer? Be straight with me. Don't sugarcoat it."

Charlotte and Jessica glanced at each other. "Well, we've seen patients last a week like this. But given your mother's condition and the rate of her breathing, we're not expecting her to make it through the night. We're so sorry, Sara."

Sara choked back a sob and Charlotte gave her hand a comforting squeeze, which Sara fought the urge to shake off. "We'll be in and out checking on her, but if something comes up and we're not around, there's a call button on her bedside table. We'll give you some privacy to spend some time alone with her. Catherine, right? You can wait in the parlor if you'd like. It's down the hall."

Catherine shot a glance at Sara, silently asking what she wanted. Sara's tear-filled eyes answered her question. "I think I'll stay here. Thank you, though." When she looked back at Sara, she gave the most imperceptible nod of gratitude. As the nurses departed Sara pulled out her phone to try Grissom one more time. This time, it went straight to voice mail. She felt like someone had stabbed her and twisted the knife. Not only was Grissom not answering his phone, but he was ignoring her as well. She wasn't going to dwell on it. There was only so much she could deal with today. She straightened her shoulders and pulled down her shirt and entered her mother's room.

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_A/N: Please let me know what you think. Comments and critiques are welcome and greatly appreciated._


	2. Chapter 2

_Disclaimer: I only own them in my dreams._

_A/N: Thank you all for your kind comments and messages. I was honestly very touched and it really did brighten my day.  
_

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She wasn't sure what exactly she had been expecting, but it wasn't this. Her mom was lying in the bed, stock still, her mouth hanging open. Her breathing was very labored and shallow, and it sounded almost like she was snoring. She had lost a lot of weight – she probably barely made it to 80 pounds – and didn't even take up half of the bed. Her skin was stretched tight around her face and her hair, always meticulously kept, fell limp and dull.

Sara couldn't breathe. She couldn't do this. It was too much. She turned around, ready to bolt, but found Catherine blocking her exit. Catherine instinctively grabbed Sara by the arms, holding her in place. "Let me go. Please. I can't do this."

"Yes, yes you can."

"I'm not ready."

"Sweetheart, nobody is ever ready." She gently turned Sara around and pushed her towards the bed. "I'm right here if you need anything." She started to head for the couch, but Sara's hand shot out and grabbed hers.

"Sit with me. Please?"

Catherine nodded and sat in the chair at Mrs. Sidle's head while Sara took the one at her waist.

Sara just stared at her mom, so frail and powerless. It was hard to imagine that she used to be terrified of her. Her right eye was closed halfway, stationary and unblinking. She rubbed her mom's arm through the thin sheet that covered her. "I'm right here, Mama. I made it." Tears began to fall down her cheeks, but she remained composed. She spent several minutes rubbing her mom's arm as she got her thoughts in order. As she began to speak, the room and Catherine faded away, until she was only aware of herself and her mom. "I hated you for a long time, mom. A really long time. And I don't just mean while I was living with you. I've tried – hundreds of times – but I can't forgive you for the things you did. For killing dad. For fuck's sake I fucking _watched _you do it, screaming for you to stop. Those images have haunted my dreams for years, even to this day. I can't forgive you for all the abuse – physical and sexual and emotional – that you and dad put me through, how you never tried to stop it. All the broken bones and bruises and secrets. How I could never be good enough, smart enough, pretty enough, whatever, for you or dad. All of my idiosyncrasies are a direct result of your neglect. Sometimes I can barely stand to look at myself and then I agree with you – how could anybody ever love me? And I hate myself for feeling that way. So I can't forgive you for the hell you put me through. But you are my mother, and I do love you. There were good parts of my childhood – very few – but they are moments that I cherish. Like the time that you pulled me and Ben out of school one day in second grade and took us to the zoo and we ate so much ice cream I nearly got sick. And when we went behind dad's back and got a puppy from the pound. Or that time when Ben came home from the hospital – that week when Dad took off – and we spent the entire day every day in his room, eating in bed with him and playing cards and Monopoly. Whenever I questioned if you loved me or not, I would think of those wonderful moments and convince myself that you did.

"I've long ago given up that you appreciate me and love me for who I am. I've accepted that. But I've always loved you. Even when I hated you, I loved you. I wanted you to know that before… well, before. The horrible moments of my childhood far outweighed the good, but the good times were what kept me going."

Catherine had remained quiet and still during Sara's speech, stunned at what she had learned. Her eyes filled with tears of sympathy for the younger woman. She had no idea that Sara's childhood was so horrific. It certainly explained her behavior and her reactions to certain cases. Catherine wanted to reach out to her, but before she could, Sara jumped up, knocking her chair over.

"I'm fine, I just need some air," she muttered as she left.

Catherine sat there for a few minutes, the only sound coming from the oxygen machine. She leaned over and stroked Laura Sidle's hair. "Ms. Sidle, I'm Catherine Willows. Sara and I work together. I don't know what happened between the two of you, and I'm not going to guess. But I have a pretty good idea that she hasn't told you much about herself over the past few years. Actually, she's a big mystery to me, too. But from working with her the past several years, I've come to know her in a different sort of way. Sara says you wouldn't be proud of her, but I'd have to disagree. I think you would. She is incredibly committed to everything she does. She puts more than 100 into her work. She's brilliant and tough and sometimes I wish I could follow her example. I really admire her and her strength. She's a great person to have on our team, as a colleague, and as a friend. You know, I can tell that she's hurting, that she has been for awhile. She's a little happier now that she's dating our supervisor. He's really good for her – they compliment each other really well. But I don't think it's enough. I want her to be able to trust someone enough to open up and just let out all that anger and pain she holds inside of her. Well, I think she trusts Grissom enough; I just don't think she trusts herself. I could be wrong. This is just what I've observed. Usually she shrugs it off or hides behind her mask of professionalism, but other times it's evident. I hate seeing her like that. Maybe that could be the last thing you give her. That release, that closure. I don't know." Catherine sat back in the chair, unsure of what to say next, if anything. Instead she examined the pictures hanging on the wall around the bed. Most were family pictures, and many of them included pictures of a very young and sullen Sara. Even at such a young age she knew how hard the world could be. One picture of Sara was at her seventh birthday party. Her right arm was in a cast and she had the remnants of a black eye. She stood out in the midst of happy children singing "Happy Birthday to you," looking forlornly at the camera. Catherine couldn't help but wonder if these were the best pictures the Sidles had of each other – the ones they weren't ashamed to display.

Sara was standing in the doorway, unseen, a hand clamped over her mouth. She had heard Catherine's speech in its entirety, and as much as she didn't want to admit it, Catherine was dead on. She was very touched by her co-workers words – she never would have guessed Catherine felt that way. After a few minutes of silence Sara re-entered the room and found Catherine looking at the pictures on the walls.

"That's my big brother. He died about ten years ago from a drug overdose. I guess he wasn't as well adjusted as me," she said, indicating a picture of the two of them sitting on a pool float. She glanced at the other pictures hanging on the wall. "I wasn't a very happy kid, could you tell?" Sara asked jokingly. The smile slipped from her face when Catherine turned to her, eyes filled with tears.

"How old were you?" she asked quietly.

Sara crossed her arms in front of her defensively and slumped in the chair. She had forgotten her co-worker had been in the room as she spoke to her mom. Grissom was the only person who knew about her past, and she had intended to keep it that way. Catherine now knew much more about her life than she ever wanted anyone else to know. She knew enough; couldn't it be left at that? But then she thought about what Catherine had said, just moments before. She hadn't been aware that Sara was listening, so there must have been some truth to her words. She stared at the ground, unable to meet her co-worker's eyes. "Nine. About a week before I turned nine." She prayed that Catherine wouldn't say anything trite like 'it must have been so awful for you' or 'wow, that's tough' or any similar phrase that people use when they don't know how to react to such horrific news.

Instead, Catherine rested her hand on her knee. "You can trust me, Sara."

Again she was touched, but she was on emotion overload and needed some space. She stood up, hugging herself. "I need some time alone with my mom."

Catherine nodded. "I'll be in the parlor."

"Could you maybe stay close?"

"Of course. I'll be right outside." She left, leaving the door open a crack in case Sara needed anything. Then she pulled out her cell phone and called Grissom. It went straight to voice mail. "Gil," she hissed. "Pick up the goddamn phone! Sara needs you. Get your ass over here!" She flipped it shut and called his office, and when he didn't answer there she called Warrick.

"Hey Cath, what's up?"

"I'm trying to get a hold of Grissom, but he isn't answering his phone."

"Is there anything I can help you with?"

"I really wish there was, but honestly it needs to be Grissom."

"Is everything okay? Is this about Sara? Is Sara okay?"

"Rick I wish I could tell you, but it's not my place. Sara is fine; we just need Grissom."

"I haven't seen him at all today. I think he had some sort of benefit or lecture to go to today and tomorrow. That sounds right but I can't be sure."

Catherine searched her brain to see if she could remember Grissom mentioning this bit of information. He wasn't always forthcoming about his out-of-lab activities, so it wouldn't be much of a surprise if he had gone off for two days without telling anyone. "Okay, I'll go with that for now. It would explain why he isn't answering his phone. Thanks Warrick. I'll talk to you later."

"Okay Cath. And hey, give Sara a hug. It sounds like she needs one."

She hung up the phone, only slightly assured of Grissom's whereabouts. She listened into the room for a moment, but it was quiet – just the ticking of the oxygen tank. She leaned against the wall and slid down to the floor, hugging her knees to her chest. She sat like that as Jessica came up and entered the room.

"I need to give Miss Laura a suppository. You may want to wait out here."

Catherine nodded and as Jessica went in she heard her say the same thing to Sara.

Sara acted like she didn't hear her. She just sat in the chair, staring at her mom, a stony expression on her face. "Sara honey, I don't think you want to be in here for this," Jessica said. She gently pushed Sara up from the chair and towards the door. Sara walked out slowly, not really seeing where she was going.

"Hey," Catherine called, bringing her out of her reverie. "Come sit."

Sara wordlessly sat next to her and stared at the opposite wall. After a few minutes she snaked her hands around Catherine's elbow and pressed her cheek into her upper arm. Catherine covered Sara's hand with her own and within seconds she could feel the younger woman start to shake and tighten her grip. Soon she could feel the tears seeping through her shirt. Catherine wished there was more that she could do. She wanted to wrap her arms around Sara and protect her from all the hurt and pain she was feeling. But she knew she couldn't. Sara had boundaries and Catherine knew that whatever trust that was building between them would evaporate if she crossed them. So she did what she could, holding onto Sara's hand as she cried softly and calmly into her arm.

Eventually Sara got herself under control again, but they remained in that position for over an hour. The silence was broken when Sara's stomach growled.

"Are you hungry? I can go get us something to eat," Catherine offered.

"No."

"Sara, you need to eat _something_."

"I know. I mean, yes, I am hungry, but no, I don't want you to go get something. I don't want to be alone when she… when it happens."

"Okay. We can ask the nurses if there's any leftover food. Or maybe they're already getting ready for breakfast." She checked her watch. It was almost four. Grissom still hadn't called, which was strange. It wasn't like he was giving a lecture at the crack of dawn. "I'll go down to the kitchen and check."

Sara nodded and went back into the room. She sat on the couch, keeping a close eye on her mother, counting the seconds between each labored breath.

"Well, the cook isn't here yet, but they have cereal, fruit, and Eggo waffles in the fridge. The lady at the front desk said we could help ourselves. What would you like?"

Sara settled on the cereal and fruit and several minutes later they were eating cereal out of plastic bowls on opposite ends of the couch. When she was done she checked her phone for messages – none, of course – and tried calling Grissom yet again. "Where the hell is he? Why won't he answer his phone?"

"Warrick thinks he's at some sort of two-day lecture."

"No. That's next month. I don't know where he is. He always answers!"

"I'm sure he's just somewhere where there's no reception. He could be working our case in the middle of the desert."

"If he was, he'd know that we weren't there. Don't you think he would have called us by now? And how long can he be in a place with no reception? I've been trying to call him for nearly six hours! What if something has happened to him?"

"Sara, Sara, calm down. Don't get yourself so worked up. Just take one thing at a time, okay? I'm sure there's a perfectly good reason why he's not answering."

"But I really need him."

"I know, sweetie. But until he gets here, you're stuck with me. Would it be any better if I grew a beard and a love for bugs?" Catherine joked. Sara just stared at her, and she immediately felt bad. "I'm sorry, that was inconsiderate."

"No, I was just trying to imagine you with a beard," the brunette replied with a straight face. Catherine burst out laughing and Sara soon joined in. It felt good to laugh, and it alleviated some of the tension in the room. But it vanished as fast as it appeared. Sara brought her knees up to her chest. "I don't know why I'm so upset. It doesn't make sense, does it? I mean, given our history, I shouldn't even be here. I shouldn't care about what happens to her, yet here I am. I'm really afraid of losing her. I don't know why, but I am."

"She's your mother."

"But she never protected me. She was supposed to protect me." Her voice got caught in her throat and she hugged her knees tighter. "Let's just drop it."

"Is she religious?"

Sara snorted. "You're kidding, right?" She looked at Catherine's serious expression. "Oh. You're not. No religious person would ever treat her family the way she treated me. So no, she isn't. Why do you ask?"

"Well, I was going to say you might want to call in a priest or something for last rites. You're sure she didn't… find religion in the past several years?"

"I didn't even know who God was until I was placed in foster care. Look around. Do you see any Bibles or crosses? Yes, I am damn sure she didn't 'find religion.'" She shook her head and rolled her eyes, indicating that the conversation was over. She picked up her cell phone and half-heartedly tried Grissom. Straight to voicemail. Big surprise. She didn't trust her voice right now so she didn't leave a message. She slouched in the corner of the couch and closed her eyes, hoping that when she opened them this would all just be a nightmare.

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_A/N: I hope you enjoyed this chapter. Please review and let me know what you think!_


	3. Chapter 3

Summary: Sara is there when her mother dies. "Inspired" by my own grandmother's passing a few months ago. Cath/Sara friendship, GSR. 

Disclaimer: If I owned anything CSI related I'd be making MUCH more money than I am now.

_A/N: I'm SO sorry it has taken me so long to update! Several factors made it difficult – the topic itself, obviously, as well as running summer camp, job hunting, an addiction to the O.C., and an awful case of writer's block. I'm not sure I'm terribly happy with this, but I've been editing and re-writing it for over a month and I figure this is it. So please leave your comments/suggestions/etc. They're always appreciated._

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Catherine studied her for a few minutes and noticed that there was so much rage and anger simmering just below the surface. She was sure Sara would explode soon. She just wished that Grissom would get here in time. She could tell Sara needed his support more than anything and could probably provide better comfort than what she was giving. After a few more minutes she turned her attention to Ms. Sidle. Her breathing had become even more labored, and Catherine counted ten seconds between each breath. Concerned, she shook Sara and went into the hall to find one of the nurses. Charlotte was at the end of the hall and hurried over when she noticed Catherine standing outside the room.

"Her breathing has changed. I think. There's about ten seconds between each breath," Catherine explained as they went back into the room. She and Sara hung back to give the nurse some room. Sara's arms were wrapped tightly around her waist as she stood stiffly, her heart pounding.

Charlotte checked Ms. Sidle's pulse and looked up sadly at the two women behind her. "I think this is it. Here, Sara, come sit with her."

Sara shook her head vigorously. She couldn't do this. She wasn't strong enough. She needed Grissom by her side. "No, that's okay, I'll just… stand here."

Charlotte looked disappointed for a fleeting moment, but agreed. She stepped back into the corner of the room to give Sara space.

Catherine put her hand on her co-worker's shoulder and leaned in. "I don't want you to regret this. Go sit with her."

Sara's heart was pounding so hard she felt like she was going to choke. This couldn't be happening. She had already witnessed one parent's death; she didn't need to see the remaining one die, too. Her mom's breathing was getting slower, with long pauses between each one. She had become so still that it was getting hard to tell which breath was going to be her last one. It was getting so hard for her to breathe that Charlotte had tilted her head back a little, and her breaths came in short, labored gasps. Sara sank into the chair and just stared at her mom. Her skin was almost translucent and she could see every curve of her skull. Tentatively she reached under the thin sheet and held her mom's hand. It felt limp and as light as air. Suddenly she was flooded with memories and anger, and a tiny sob escaped.

"I'm so sorry. I'm sorry I was such a disappointment. All I wanted was for you to love me," she whispered, trying to keep her voice steady. A few tears escaped down her cheeks, but she took a few deep breaths and got herself under control. At least, as best as she could. She pressed her mom's hand against her cheek and sat like that for several minutes.

Suddenly the room got quiet. Excruciatingly quiet. Sara raised her head and watched as her mom continued to struggle to breathe. "It's okay mom. Just let go. Just let go." She kept repeating that as she held her mom's hand tightly. After a few more breaths, the breathing machine wheezed for the last time. Sara felt this enormous pressure about her, crushing her, like someone had blown too much air into too small of a space, like she was inside a balloon that was filled to capacity. She felt like she was being compressed and that the universe was trying to make her smaller.

She let go of her mom's hand and set it down on the bed. Charlotte was there a second later, checking Ms. Sidle's pulse. When she found none, she called the time of death softly: "3:18am." She turned to Sara and squeezed her shoulder. "I'm so sorry, Sara." When Sara batted her hands away, she nodded in understanding and left the room. Sara continued to sit still, staring at her mother, trying to comprehend what was happening.

Suddenly she jumped up, knocking her chair over again, and took a few steps back. She ran her hands through her hair, grabbing it in fistfuls. She stood in place, twisting from side to side as though she was trying to decide to make a run for it or to collapse. She squeezed her eyes shut and clenched her jaw, trying to force everything down. Her breathing starting coming short and fast, at first sounding like she was out of breath and then like hiccups before the sobs she couldn't keep down any longer escaped.

Catherine had been standing in the middle of the room as the scene unfolded, torn between going to Sara and giving her space. The decision was made for her when Sara began to break down. She practically ran over to the younger woman, pulled her hands down from her head, and pulled her into a hug. Instead of rejecting it, like Catherine expected, Sara tightly wrapped her arms around Catherine and pressed her face into her shoulder, sobbing.

After several seconds her legs started to give out from under her. Catherine held her up and maneuvered them over to the couch. Sara sat hunched over, her head in her hands, her whole body shaking. Catherine rubbed her back as she pulled out her cell phone. Once again, straight to voicemail. Anger flared up in the blonde and she tried to keep her temper under control as she left yet another voicemail.

"Gil. Get your fucking ass over here. NOW." So much for keeping her temper in check. She tossed the phone on the ground and before she could say or do anything, Jessica and Charlotte came back in.

"We called the funeral home. They're sending someone over for the body. As per Ms. Sidle's request, she will be cremated," Jessica said softly.

Catherine nodded when Sara didn't look up. When the nurses left, she turned her attention back to the distraught woman. She rested one hand on Sara's knee and continued to rub her back with the other.

She looked up with tear-filled eyes and could just barely make out the figure of her mother. She had to be sure this was really happening, to make sure she really wasn't breathing anymore. Sure enough, there was no movement from her mother's bed, and that brought on a new wave of tears. Every time she breathed, a hollow pain ripped through her chest. She desperately wanted to stop, to make the pain go away, but it was impossible. Her body was ignoring what her brain demanded and was releasing years of pent up anguish. She couldn't help it – she looked over at her mother again, at her still form, and continued to cry. She felt Catherine get up and move to her other side, shielding the view of her mother's body. Catherine sat close and continued to rub her back. Sara removed her hands from her face and firmly held onto Catherine's hand, irrationally afraid of losing her, too. As they sat there the men from the funeral home came to collect Laura Sidle's body. Sara blindly signed and filled out the forms, not bothering to read what they said. As the men loaded her mother onto a gurney, Sara couldn't bear to watch and buried her face behind Catherine's shoulder. Their exit prompted another wave of tears.

Catherine sat with her and provided what comfort she could give, stroking her hair and rubbing her back until she could no longer feel Sara's tears drip onto her hand.

After a few minutes Sara released Catherine's hand and moved to the other end of couch, uncomfortable. She needed some space. All she wanted to do was go home and crawl into bed. Finally she looked up at Catherine, her eyes puffy and red and her cheeks still streaked with tears. "Will you take me home?" she asked softly.

"Your home or to Grissom's?"

"My home. Grissom can go to hell." It hurt her – damaged her – more than she wanted to admit that Grissom was not answering or returning her calls. Thinking about it just brought more tears to her eyes, and she was done crying. She shook her head and took a few deep breaths and tried to find another topic to occupy her mind. The safest one was work, and she began to go over all the cases that she could remember since she moved to Vegas. She became so focused on her thoughts that she didn't remember Catherine leading her to the car or any of the drive home. She was surprised to find herself in her apartment parking lot when Catherine shook her out of her trance. She snapped out of it for a minute, but quickly slipped back into those memories as she got out of the car. It felt safer there. She leaned against the Denali, her mind too wrapped up in the past to see where she was going.

Catherine walked around to her, took her by the arm, and gently led her to the complex. She didn't know which apartment was Sara's and had to peruse the mailbox listings until she found it. Then she had to fumble through the key ring to find the right one to open the door. Finally, the door was open. Catherine looked around, taking in the one-room apartment. It was small but homey and comfortable, with rich purple walls and cozy furniture. It wasn't what she had expected, but it was certainly fitting.

Now that she was in her sanctuary, Sara snapped out of her memories and wordlessly went into her bathroom. Seconds later Catherine could hear the water running. She didn't know if Sara wanted her to stick around but, if she was honest with herself, she didn't think she should be alone. It wasn't a secret at the lab that Sara could drink anyone under the table and that she had gotten in trouble on more than one occasion for turning to the bottle to get her through a tough time. Catherine didn't want her co-worker to drink herself into a stupor – supervised or unsupervised. There were better ways to deal with grief. So she went to the refrigerator to see what it held. Inside were about ten bottles of beer and a bottle of Stoli occupied the freezer. Before she knew what she was doing, she emptied everything out into the kitchen sink and lined up the bottles on the counter.

When Sara exited the bathroom several minutes later, Catherine expected her to be angry but accepting to find her alcohol gone. But Sara surprised her and flew into a fit of rage.

"What the hell do you think you're doing? You had no right to do that, no right! This is my house, my life, my _fucking_ decision! If I want to get drunk that's _my_ choice, not yours! I should be allowed to deal with this however I damn well please!" she yelled, practically backing Catherine into the counter.

"Sara, you can't use alcohol to escape your problems. They'll just be there waiting for you when you sober up," Catherine said calmly.

"Oh, don't patronize me, Catherine," Sara spat. She spun around and leaned against the kitchen wall, arms crossed, eyes shooting daggers at her co-worker.

"I'm not, I'm concerned. I don't want to see you going down this road. Trust me, I've seen what happens. Don't do this to yourself."

"Whatever." She started to make her way to the front door, but Catherine grabbed her arm and spun her around.

"Don't 'whatever' this. This is not a 'whatever' situation. Is this what you want?" Catherine picked up an empty bottle and dangled it in front of Sara's face. "Drinking so many of these that you pass out and wake up in a pool of your own vomit? Passing out and waking up in someone's bed and you haven't the faintest idea how you got there, what happened, or hell, whose bed it is? Are you proud when you're the very last one at the bar, or when you've had so much to drink that the bartender cuts you off and has to send you home in a cab?" She threw the bottle in the sink, shattering it. Sara flinched. "What about the people that care about you? They want to help you, but you shut them out because you prefer the bottle's comfort over theirs? What about the rest of us, who have to watch you deteriorate because you slowly start to not care about anything and refuse our help? Do you really want to reduce your life to this? Is that the path you want to take? Oh, it's so easy to say that you won't let yourself get that bad. Then one day your life is spiraling out of control and you can't turn to anybody because you feel you've rejected them so much that they don't care anymore. Even though they do care. They've never stopped caring. You're lonely and miserable at the turn your life has taken, so you turn back to your trusty friend," she threw another bottle in the sink. "And eventually drink yourself to death." Catherine finished, angry tears glistening in her eyes. The two women stared at each other for a long time before Catherine turned around, placing her hands on the counter. She took several deep breaths, trying to calm down.

Sara was stunned and rendered speechless. After a long period of strained silence, she spoke up, her voice calm and even. "This is how I've been dealing with shit my whole life, and I'm fine."

Catherine slowly turned around, her arms crossed in front of her. "No, you're not fine. You're not even close to fine."

Sara held her gaze for a moment and then looked away. Catherine was right – she was so far from fine she had forgotten what 'fine' was. Alcohol was something that made her feel okay, even if it was only for a little bit. It was her coping mechanism, and now she didn't have that. She didn't know how she was going to deal with everything right now without it or Grissom, and it scared the shit out of her. Tears of frustration and desperation pricked at the corners of her eyes and she turned away.

Catherine sighed, feeling guilty for her outburst. That was the last thing Sara needed right now. "I'm sorry you're hurting, Sara, I really am. But I'm not sorry for dumping out your alcohol. You need to find a better way of dealing with difficult situations. I know you don't want to hear that, but I'm not going to let you go down that road. You're too smart. I've seen it happen to too many people and I care too much about you to add you to that list. I know you probably hate me right now and are going to kick me out, but if you need to talk, have a yelling match, break or hit things, call me. Call _someone_. Just don't reach for a beer. Please."

Sara nodded, her back still to the blonde. "Thank you for staying with me today, Cath. But I really would like to be alone now. Don't worry, I won't do anything stupid," she added, a hint of annoyance in her voice. She made no move to show Catherine to the door. Finally her co-worker took the hint.

"If you need anything, or want some company, give me a call," Catherine said, giving Sara's shoulder a small squeeze before showing herself out.

Sara didn't even bother locking up. She just made sure the door was closed all the way before turning off the lights and crawling into bed.

She couldn't remember the last time she felt so alone. She felt like she'd lost more than her mother that morning. Grissom. She couldn't think of a logical reason why he wouldn't have answered her calls or at least called her by now. Catherine had proven herself to be a loyal friend, but Sara was sure the blonde wanted to have nothing to do with her now. And those were just the people. She was filled with so much regret she felt like she couldn't function. Regret over things that she could control – the men she dated, errors in judgment over the past several years – to the things that she couldn't control – mainly, her relationship with her parents. She regretted the fact that she would never – ever – have a normal or healthy relationship with her parents. That she had let anger control her life for so long. That she was damaged and hurt much deeper than she wanted to admit. Before she knew it, she was crying into her pillow for the things she had lost and the things she would never have. Eventually she cried herself to sleep.

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A/N: Again, so sorry it took so long to get this out! Hope you liked it – please let me know what you thought! 


	4. Chapter 4

Summary: Sara is there when her mother dies. "Inspired" by my own grandmother's passing a few months ago. Cath/Sara friendship, GSR. Grissom shows up – finally!  
Disclaimer: I only own them in my dreams.  
_A/N: I hope this is a satisfactory cap to the story. Thank you for reading and reviewing!_

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A few hours later she awoke to knocking on her door. She didn't have the energy to say 'come in', much less answer the door. She pulled her comforter up around her and turned over, as though she could see through the door to identify her visitor.

"Sara, it's me," came the soft voice. "Please let me in."

It was Gil. Half of her heart leapt for joy while the other half pulled it back down in anger and abandonment. When she found her voice she called "It's unlocked," and rolled back over. She heard the door open and close. She heard him kick off his shoes by the coffee table and pad over to her bed. She felt the bed shift as he climbed in next to her. Part of her wanted him to sweep her into his arms and hold her, but another, stronger, part wanted him to know how much his absence had hurt her. He didn't deserve to see her cry, to wipe away her tears, no matter the explanation.

She curled herself into a ball. "You weren't there," she said quietly. Her resolve to not cry went swiftly out the window as the tears returned. "Why weren't you there?"

Grissom stared at the shaking woman in front of him and felt so ashamed he had neglected to be there for her in the moments she needed him most. He reached over and moved the hair off Sara's face and neck, a gesture that only made the tears come faster, stronger. He gently rolled her over onto her back so she'd look at him. He placed his hand on her cheek, wiping away the tears with his thumb. "An old friend called, saying goodbye. She sounded upset and I was concerned, so I went to her house. She had taken a handful of sleeping pills by the time I got there. I rode with her to the hospital, waited while the doctors pumped her stomach, and sat with her all night, talking. When you called I assumed you were going to fill me in on the case and I thought 'it can wait until tomorrow' so I turned off my phone." He leaned down and kissed her forehead. "I'm so sorry, Sara. I would have been there before you had I not been such an idiot. I should have just answered it, but I was afraid she'd think she was so unimportant that I'd take work calls while I was with her. I'm sorry. I'm sorry I couldn't be there with you when it happened. I wish I had been. I'm here now."

She couldn't help but forgive him. She had wanted to stay angry, to make him feel bad, but it was obvious how horrible he felt. She didn't want to push him away and make him leave. She didn't want him to leave and leave her alone. She reached up and wrapped her arms around his neck and as he lifted her into a sitting position she buried her face, sobbing, in the crook of his neck. He held her tightly and she felt so safe in his arms she never wanted him to let go.

Finally, after what seemed like hours, Grissom pushed her away. "How are you?" he asked, concerned. He knew Sara didn't have a close relationship with her mother, especially since he didn't even know she was in Vegas.

"I think I'm okay. Its strange, but I miss her." She folded her legs in front of her, covering herself with the comforter. Grissom sat next to her, facing her. They didn't have conversations about her past very often, but when they did, Sara always sat in this position, or one similar to it. He always thought it was as though she was trying to make herself as small as possible, that if she got small enough it wouldn't hurt quite so much. "I've been thinking a lot since she got worse, about my childhood and our relationship. Especially since last night. A lot of the time in that room I'd just lose myself in the memories. I've spent most of my life trying to forget what happened in that house, and I've managed to be pretty successful. But then I started thinking about it – really thinking. I'd always blamed her for not rescuing me from my dad. Whenever I'd bring it up she'd deny knowing, and I always just thought it was because she had some sort of post-death loyalty to him. But now I'm starting to wonder if she _didn't_ know. That maybe every time he came into my room she had been asleep, or drunk, or something. And every time he hurt me she had been too afraid or powerless to intervene. And maybe every time she told me I wasn't good enough or smart enough it was only because she was afraid to contradict my dad. Because he would hurt her, too." Her voice had turned husky and thick with tears and she had to take a second to get herself under control so she could continue. Gil took her hand and held it in both of his. "I wasted so much of my life being so angry at her, hating her, being ashamed of her. I didn't see that she was willing to go to the extreme to keep me safe, that she loved me so much that she'd kill my father to stop him from hurting me. I only saw that she released me from one hell only to put me in another. I can't help but think that my life could have had some sort of normalcy if I hadn't been so damn stubborn. I could have listened to her side of the story if I hadn't been so positive my side was right."

"Sara, you'll only beat yourself up thinking like that."

"No, no, don't you see? Everything I thought was right was wrong. And it hurts – god, it hurts – that I realized it too late. But at the same time, I feel this huge sense of relief. That she did what she did because she loved me."

"You're sure? Don't try to convince yourself this is right so you can have closure."

"Yes, I'm sure. That's what my heart is telling me. I've been thinking about it a lot over the past few months, especially today. It helps me heal to know that she couldn't have done anything rather than she made the conscious choice not to. Maybe that's not the case, but I'm going to believe that it is. I may never know the truth, but it'll be a hell of a lot easier for me to move on. When it was just us, she was wonderful. She only hurt me or my brother when my dad was around. I wish this wasn't what it took, but I think I'm finally ready to start healing. It isn't going to be easy, or fast. My wounds are deep. Will you stand by me the entire time? Because if you won't, I won't make it. I need you to help me get through this. It isn't going to be easy and I can't do it alone." She clutched his hand, practically pleading with him. It would destroy her if he wouldn't stay by her side.

"I'm hurt you even had to ask," he replied, pulling her close to him and kissing the top of her head. He leaned back, settling himself in her pillows. Sara lay next to him, her arm entwined with his, her head against his shoulder.

"I'm glad you're here."

"I'm sorry I wasn't with you sooner. How was Catherine as a stand-in?"

"Wonderful. Really great and supportive. Just… not you." They were quiet for a few seconds, and then Sara flipped over onto her stomach, half laying on him. "She poured out all my alcohol."

"Good. This is going to be difficult at times, and sometimes it will seem easier to just grab a beer. I'm glad you won't have that temptation."

"But I'll have you," she said, snuggling into him.

"Always." He held her tight, tracing patterns on her arm until she fell asleep. He knew her path to healing would be tough, but he would stand by her side for every moment. He never wanted her to feel like he had abandoned her ever again.

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_A/N: No, the woman was not Lady Heather. You can make her whoever you want her to be. :)  
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